


The Art of Prayer

by Westwardflight



Category: Horrible Histories
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-22
Updated: 2012-12-22
Packaged: 2017-11-22 00:40:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,024
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/603903
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Westwardflight/pseuds/Westwardflight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was put on this earth to protect, to worship, to love Blenkinsop. He belonged on his knees in front of Blenkinsop, there is nowhere else he would rather be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Art of Prayer

**Author's Note:**

  * For [aestivali](https://archiveofourown.org/users/aestivali/gifts).



> Thank you to [Amine_Eyes](http://archiveofourown.org/users/amine_eyes/profile) for her beta-ing and general amazingness. 
> 
> Aesti, ilu <3

He was put on this earth to protect, to worship, to love Blenkinsop. He belonged on his knees in front of Blenkinsop, there is nowhere else he would rather be. 

His jaw was already starting to ache, but each obscenity, each heresy, each prayer that fell from Blenkinsop’s lips made Maltravers more desperate. It was wet and messy and Maltravers’ hands slid up the back of Blenkinsop’s thighs, fingers clenching in his arse.

When Blenkinsop moaned, Maltravers’ hips jerked as though attached to Blenkinsop’s pleasure by the invisible forces of the universe. It made sense; everything else he had was bound up in Blenkinsop.

Blenkinsop’s fingers twisted and curled through Maltravers’ hair, his nails dragging gently along Maltravers’ scalp. He said Maltravers’ name like an oath, playing with the baby-soft hair at the nape of Maltravers’ neck. God, he couldn’t take it, he couldn’t. Hearing his name fall from Blenkinsop’s lips with such reverence was too much.

He brought his hand around to work the base of Blenkinsop’s cock, teased the head with his tongue, desperate to hear his name said that way again. When Blenkinsop tightened his grip on Maltravers’ hair, twisted and pulled, it was almost as good. The sharpness of the pain made the pleasure all the sweeter, he whined around Blenkinsop’s cock, saliva and pre-come leaking out the corner of his mouth.

Blenkinsop’s fingers loosened for a moment, slipping down to stroke Maltravers’ cheek and trace the helix of his ear. Maltravers’ traced his tongue along the underside of his cock, and Blenkinsop twisted his hands back into his hair, pulled him closer. Maltravers didn’t choke, didn’t gag, just moved his hand to grip Blenkinsop’s hips instead of his cock. This was the way it is supposed to be. This was an act of benediction; an act of aspiration, adoration, and awe. Blenkinsop was his and he was Blenkinsop’s, it was as simple and complex as that.

Blenkinsop canted his hips, fucking Maltravers’ mouth. Maltravers’ knees were starting to ache, his jaw is throbbing, and Blenkinsop’s fingers twist tighter and tighter in his hair. It just pushed him higher, dizzyingly high.

He was intensely aware of every sensation – the slide of Blenkinsop’s cock against the inside of his cheek, the burn of each follicle when Blenkinsop’s fingers pulled, the smell of semen and sweat and Blenkinsop, the softness of Blenkinsop’s skin beneath his fingers, every curse and prayer and moan falling from Blenkinsop’s lips. He catalogued them, filed them away safely for future reference, just as he always does. It doesn’t matter how many times they did this, he wanted to remember each and every one, each and every sound, each and every muscle twitch.

Blenkinsop went still, murmuring Maltravers’ name over and over again. His fingers clenched tighter still in Maltravers’ hair and, for a moment, everything was as it should be.

He rested his head against Blenkinsop’s hip, trying and failing to catch his breath. Blenkinsop stroked his hair gently for a moment before he lowered himself down to his knees so he was level with Maltravers. Maltravers tried not to wince, knowing how much his leg was going to ache in the morning, but Blenkinsop showed no pain. He pulled Maltravers into a messy kiss, not letting go of his hair.

Maltravers shivered and moaned and begged into the kiss. Blenkinsop, ever obliging, wrapped a hand around Maltravers’ cock. Maltravers’ nipped at his lower lip, thrust up into his grip.

It didn’t take much; Maltravers was on a hair trigger. He kept kissing Blenkinsop, begging and pleading and promising. Obscenities and sweet nothings intermingled freely in the babble. Blenkinsop just murmured his name, over and over again. 

His orgasm sparked fireworks behind his eyes. Blenkinsop stroked him through the aftershocks, then pulled him close. “Thank you, thank you, thank you,” he breathed, warm air ghosting across Maltravers’ ear.

“Shhhh, it’s nothing, it’s nothing, old bean.” And it wasn’t. He could happily spend his life here if it meant seeing that rapturous joy on Blenkinsop's face. He wanted nothing more than to stay here, pressed close to Blenkinsop, happy and warm and safe. It couldn’t last though, Blenkinsop’s leg would not tolerate kneeling, not even on the soft carpet. Maltravers made a pained noise as he stood up, then helped Blenkinsop up. His leg lacked the scar tissue that decorated Blenkinsop’s, but he was not a young man anymore.

Blenkinsop pulled him into another kiss, nuzzling Maltravers neck and shoulders. There was nothing but joy behind his eyes, none of the darkness that had been there earlier in the night. Maltravers felt something in his chest unclench. He couldn’t quiet the stream of impossible promises that wash over Blenkinsop’s sweat slicked skin. Blenkinsop in turn murmured entirely unnecessary plea for absolution, a steady flow of I’m sorries and thank yous and pleases.

“Bed or tea?” Blenkinsop managed to ask, pausing his quiet prayer.

“Bed.” It wasn’t even a choice, the idea of separating from Blenkinsop caused his chest to tighten again.

Equally unwilling to let go, Blenkinsop shuffled them towards the bed. He eased himself down onto it, dragging Maltravers behind him. They curled around each other, legs entwined, exchanging gentle kisses wherever they could reach. They finally fell silent, just looking at each other. Despite the obvious physical differences, despite the earlier issues, for a moment it was like it used to be when they were young and hopeful.

Blenkinsop broke the silence first. “I love you.”

Maltravers somehow smiled even harder, “I love you too.”

He could feel the flutter of Blenkinsop’s eyelashes against his skin, the warmth of his breath, and the steady beat of his heart.

Tomorrow could go either way. Some days were good days, some days were bad. Some days, no matter what Blenkers said or did, all Maltravers could hear were the screams of dying boys and gunfire. Other days, Blenkinsop could barely walk, refusing to look Maltravers in the eye. Occasionally, there were days where neither of them could function. Tonight, though, tonight was going to be a good night. He was where he belonged, protecting, worshipping, and loving Blenkinsop.


End file.
